


The Brighter the Lights

by Romiress



Series: The Stack - Oneshots in Need of Expansion [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce Wayne is Owlman, Court of Owls, Gen, Heavily references Death in the Family, Mystery, Tags Contain Spoilers, Villain Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24052486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Gotham is on the rise, recovering after years of neglect. Most credit it to improved social policies and an influx of money, but Slade Wilson places the credit where it's due: with the Court of Owls.Hired by a rich backer to track down Batman, the only person who might be able to oppose the court, Slade's put on a collision course with the Court.
Series: The Stack - Oneshots in Need of Expansion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955284
Comments: 19
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalech](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalech/gifts).



Jim Gordon, it turns out, is nearly impossible to get a hold of. Slade spends the better part of a week trying to wrangle an appointment with the commissioner before he gives up and goes back to doing things his way. He already has a good idea of Gordon's schedule, and it's easy enough to _just so happen_ to be at the cafe where Gordon gets his coffee in the morning after a night shift.

He goes right ahead and sits himself at Gordon's table, right across from him, and watches the way Gordon's eyebrow goes up inquisitively.

"And you are?"

"A friend, hopefully," Slade says with a small, wry chuckle. "I've been trying to get into a meeting with you, but you're a hard man to get a hold of."

"I'm busy."

"You certainly don't look busy _now,"_ Slade says with a pointed look at the bare table. "It's just a few questions about a friend of yours. What I'm doing will only benefit you."

"I doubt that," Gordon says, but he doesn't try and leave.

Jim Gordon occupies a unique place in Gotham, one absolutely unrivaled by any other living person. He's got almost ten years seniority on the next person in Gotham's police force, standing completely alone in the department. Irreplaceable, and rightly so. Every other cop from his generation is gone; the lucky ones retired, the unlucky ones moved away, and the _really_ unlucky ones ended up dead under suspicious circumstances.

Not like it was a loss. Slade doesn't come around Gotham often, but he knows enough to know that Gotham was a shit hole for a long time. Finding out that every cop on the force but one was corrupt in some way isn't even a surprise: it's expected.

Not that it's like that _now._ Gotham's new police force has some of the strictest anti-corruption efforts in the country. It stands as a shining beacon of hope, the clearest sign that things can get better.

It's to them that the city's improvement is most often credited, but Slade knows better.

"I'm a private investigator," Slade lies, his body language tightly controlled. "I'm trying to find the Batman for a client."

That part, at least, isn't a lie. Slade normally isn't stupid enough to go within a hundred miles of Gotham city limits, but the money was too good to pass up.

"You might as well refund them, because you're not going to find him."

The fact that it isn't a _no comment_ is a nice, positive step forward.

"You'd be surprised," Slade says. "I'm very good at what I do."

Also not a lie, but _mercenary_ is a bit more than a stone's throw from _private investigator._

"He's gone." Gordon shakes his head, his posture resigned. "Whatever trail he might have left is cold."

Cold is an understatement. It's been years since the last confirmed sighting of Batman at the UN headquarters. As far as anyone knows—and it's not just the public, because Slade's own search came up empty handed—Batman ran out of the building and vanished into thin air.

"I'm nothing if not determined," Slade says. "You're the only person who worked with him I could track down. I was hoping you could give me some direction."

"Didn't know him nearly that well," Gordon says, "so I'm afraid I've got nothing for you."

"I'm not asking for evidence." Slade knows that would be too easy, after all. "Just your hunch. Every cop who's lasted as long as you has intuition, and I'm more than willing to listen to yours."

The stroke to Gordon's ego is there to help loosen his lips, but Gordon doesn't actually seem all that against talking about it.

"Retired," Gordon says. "Hung up the cape and went home. Left Gotham to the Court, maybe, or maybe he moved away entirely."

"The Court?" Slade asks, raising an eyebrow. Gordon snorts, shaking his head.

"You're not worth the paper your business card is printed on if you don't know about the Court."

"I know about them. I was under the impression they weren't officially recognized."

It's impossible not to know about the Court of Owls. They rule Gotham, even if it's unofficially, and nothing happens in the city without their input. They're the real reason for Gotham's vastly cut crime rate, even if no one is willing to officially recognize it. Easier to credit Gotham's new police force then to recognize they've got a bunch of lunatics dressed like birds running things.

"They aren't. Doesn't mean they don't exist. But I don't think they were involved—the court was operating at that point, but it was another year or so after Batman disappeared before things really started taking off."

"You don't think they killed him?"

It's a common enough theory. There's no question in the public's mind that Batman would have opposed the court: it's the reason he's getting paid to try and track him down, after all.

"No. I don't even think he's dead, or at least he wasn't. Like I said, retired."

Slade stews over the idea, considering, and then voices the obvious question.

"What makes you think that?"

"The kid."

It's Slade's turn to raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You mean Robin?" As far as he knows, Robin wasn't around the last time Batman was seen, so he's not seeing the connection.

"Two nights before Batman vanished, he and Robin were out patrolling as usual. Later that night, it was just Batman: no Robin. Next day? Neither of them. Then the UN: Batman again, no Robin. Seemed unusual to me that Batman would go after Joker without his sidekick. Even stranger that Batman was so obviously agitated."

The Joker'd been a constant problem at that point, so Slade isn't sure why that would be an issue. It doesn't matter: he doesn't need to prompt, because Gordon goes right ahead and continues his explanation.

"Batman always kept it cool. He had things under control. Helped keep people confident in him. But when he went after the Joker, he was _angry."_

The pieces snap together, and Slade realizes what Gordon means.

"You think he killed the Joker and retired."

The death of the Joker still stands as one of Gotham's greater unsolved mysteries. After escaping Batman time and time again, his luck finally ran out, and the clown was found beaten to death in an alley. Slade's always felt partial to the _Gotham citizens got sick and tired of his shit_ theory, but there's merit to what Gordon's proposing.

"I think something happened to the kid—to Robin. That's why he wasn't there, and why Batman was so upset. He went after the Joker, couldn't seal the deal, and then tracked him down days later. Retired after that."

Slade works through it, step by step, but he can't find any flaws in Gordon's theory. It fits both what he knows and what he's guessed. Most importantly, though, it gives him a lead.

What happened to Robin?

He's been so focused on the bat he ignored the kid, but that might be his way in. _That_ might be the best way to find Batman.

"Thanks," Slade says. "It's been helpful."

"If you find him, tell him..." Gordon pauses, apparently searching for words, and then simply shakes his head. There's nothing he could say that would really matter, and anything that might would risk running afoul of the Court.

"I'll keep you in mind." He stands, dropping money for his bill, and then goes to leave.

On the way out, a tiny bit of movement catches his eye. He turns his head, and out of the corner of his eye he sees a figure crouched at the edge of a nearby roof, watching.

Maybe they aren't watching him right then, but they could be, and as the figure draws back from the edge, vanishing from sight, Slade has no doubt in his mind he just witnessed one of the Court's talons first hand.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes two months for Slade to find his answer. He's being paid handsomely for his time, and there's a big fat chunk of change waiting for him if he finds out the truth. Batman doesn't even have to come back. Hell, he doesn't even have to be _alive._ All Slade has to do is get to the bottom of things and then he'll have a huge payday waiting for him.

Technically there's bonuses for Batman being alive, but that's really beside the point. For Slade, finishing the job is a matter of his professional reputation.

He chases a hundred false starts before Gordon's lead pans out. In the end, the solution is easy enough: he makes an assumption that might be entirely wrong, and then aims to prove it. He _assumes_ that Robin was killed by the Joker, and then works from there. It's a safe assumption that Robin lived in the vicinity of Gotham, and that lets him narrow things down. It gives him a date range and an age range, and from there he works to filter things out.

He reaches the obvious conclusion very quickly. Jason Todd was killed in an unexplained explosion overseas the day before Batman was last seen. Bruce Wayne certainly has the money to fund a war on crime as well.

It fits perfectly, but Slade is nothing if not professional. He shakes down a few contacts in Ethiopia and speaks with an associate in Iran to put the pieces together. Nothing about his work is done quickly, and he methodically works through piece by piece as he collects his evidence.

In the end, it's unmistakable: Bruce Wayne is Batman, and Jason Todd was Robin. That makes Dick Grayson, the boy Bruce Wayne adopted from a circus, the _first_ Robin. When he follows that lead, it's easy enough to link the brief appearance of Bludhaven's hero _Nightwing_ with the years Dick Grayson lived in the city.

He has his evidence. He could present it to his employer and walk away.

Instead, he books a flight into Gotham and cashes in a favor for an invitation to the Wayne Foundation's annual charity gala. He dresses up, a nicely tailored suit, and makes his appearance as discretely as he can manage.

There don't seem to be any talons following him, which Slade takes as a good sign. Hopefully he's below the court's radar and Gordon was the one they were following, but he's not putting any money on that.

It's really just safer to assume that the Court knows everything happening on Gotham.

The gala is well underway when Slade gets his chance. Wayne is momentarily free, gliding from group to group as Slade moves to intercept. Wayne looks surprised when Slade steps into his path, raising an eyebrow with a perfectly friendly party-host demeanor.

It's perfect, but Slade knows that it's a mask.

"Mr. Wayne," he says, nodding his head in a calculated greeting. "I was hoping to speak to you in private, if you have time."

"I don't, I'm afraid," Wayne says, his smile never faltering. "I've got quite a few social obligations to deal with."

"I just wanted to speak to you about Jason Todd."

Wayne's composure doesn't crack so much as fall away immediately. His expression is serious as he looks Slade over, taking him in from his perfectly combed hair to the shiny tips of his shoes. Not a hair out of place, just the way Slade intended.

"...Follow me."

They retire to a small office, and Wayne checks a security panel by the door before making sure it's firmly closed and turning back to Bruce. His expression is still the same one he wore when Slade first mentioned Jason Todd, but there's a hint of something—anger?—underneath it.

"Talk."

"I'll get to the point." Slade waves his hand towards Bruce, emphasizing his point. "I know your secret. I followed the clues, and now here I am."

Wayne's face scrunches. Calculating. Batman was no idiot, even if he was painfully naive, and Slade's sure he must be working things out even as they stand there.

"My secret."

It's not a question, but it serves the same purpose as one. It's intended as bait. He wants Slade to say what secret he's found rather than risk Bruce confirming it for himself. Usually Slade would drag it out, fishing for more information, but he's not interested in prolonging his stay in Gotham. Better to get in, say his piece, and get out.

"You were Batman," he says simply. "Jason Todd was Robin, and after the Joker killed him, you killed the Joker. Then you retired, presumably because _killing is wrong_ or something stupid like that."

There is a change. It's not obvious, and Slade doubts anyone else would notice, but there's suddenly something _different_ about Wayne. It's the tilt of his chin, the way his eyes drift across Slade's expression.

He's almost _relaxed_ as he leans back against the office desk, looking Slade over again. Technically speaking he's still wearing the same serious-almost-angry expression as before, but it's _wrong._

An alarm goes off in Slade's head. He's in _danger._ He doesn't know why, but he is.

His eye flicks to the window, taking it in. Reinforced bulletproof glass. Could he go through it? Maybe, if he went at full speed, but—"

"I want to know how you found out," Wayne says. His voice has an edge of ice to it, and Slade wants to be _gone._ "The more detail, the better."

"I think I'm going to leave now."

"I thought your reputation mattered to you, Deathstroke," Wayne says. The mask—Brucie Wayne, playboy of Gotham—is gone. The man in front of him seems so much colder and so much more haughty, somehow looking down at Slade despite being several inches shorter _and_ leaning against a desk. 

"You hired me." It's a simple enough conclusion to make. The fact that Slade Wilson is Deathstroke isn't public, and he hasn't even introduced himself yet. Wayne shouldn't know unless he _already_ knew. "You hired me to figure out what paper trail existed."

"People frequently attempt to track down Batman, so I found the best and the brightest and paid them a great deal of money to try and figure me out. So far, of the seven I've hired, you're the only one who managed. Only one other even connected the disappearance of Robin."

There's something else, a realization scratching at the door to get in, but Slade can't open the door. He can't figure out what he's missing.

"So?" Wayne prompts. "I'm expecting a full report. All the evidence. All the details."

If it were just to hide being Batman, Slade could understand that. Wayne has money and wants his privacy, so hiring someone to _solve_ him makes sense. But it's the attitude that's bothering him. Cold. Calculating.

Slade's mouth goes dry as he realizes.

"...Jason Todd died and Batman retired. You beat the Joker to death and realized you could have avoided it if you'd taken more extreme measures. After that..." He has to pause, pulling himself together for a second before he continues. "After that you joined the Court. Threw your lot in with them."

Wayne pushes away from the desk and Slade goes absolutely still. He doesn't understand why his instincts are reacting the way they are. Wayne shouldn't be any danger, even if he _is_ a member of the court.

No, not a member, he realizes too late. The leader. Batman wouldn't have settled for anything less.

"So close," Wayne says. His fingers dart up, catching Slade's jaw. His grip is hard and demanding, yet completely human. Slade could break it in an instant, but Wayne's eyes hold his with an intensity that Slade's never seen before.

He can't look away.

"And yet so far. Batman wiped out the Court in his second year. They were a bunch of hacks, rich old men in their ivory towers refusing to actually deal with the real problems. I realized I could do better. I used them the way I use _every_ identity."

 _Beware the Court of Owls that watches all the time._ The rhyme loops in his head, over and over. Impossible to forget, impossible to ignore. It's perfect, really. The Court has a built in reputation in Gotham, and one that fit Wayne's needs perfectly. Slade wonders idly who knows, and decides that the list must be a short one indeed.

"Jason's death was a tragedy, but it didn't _create_ the Court. All it did was make it that much clearer to me that Gotham needed the Court. That it wouldn't survive without it."

Wayne's fingers dig into Slade's jaw just enough to cause discomfort, tilting his face until Slade's forced to look into his eye.

"And now you're telling me this," Slade says, "because you think I'm going to join you."

"We already have your contract, Mr. Wilson. I think you'll be an excellent asset to the Court, one way or another."

Slade can't help but feel that he's not going to get much choice at all, but the steely blue of Wayne's eyes sends a shiver down his spine just the same.

He's going to enjoy this.


End file.
